


Once-Shattered Star

by NSQ



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22713238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NSQ/pseuds/NSQ
Summary: Claude von Riegan had resigned himself to a life of chipping at walls, as opposed to shattering them. Though he still ruled, and still held Failnaught, his plans had failed. He could only hope there was something underneath Edelgard's desire for conquest other than hunger, though he was ready for if there wasn't.But when a messenger from Adrestia does finally appear, what they have to tell him isn't something he'd ever planned for.Heavy Spoilers, post-Crimson Flower.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Lysithea von Ordelia & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	Once-Shattered Star

**Author's Note:**

> What if helping Those Who Slither In The Dark dispose of their ancient enemy just meant there was nobody left to stop them?

IMPERIAL YEAR 1190, ALMYRA

Claude von Riegan - though he hadn't gone by either of those names in public in quite some time - entered into his room. Turned. Locked the door. Finally let the fatigue he felt sink into his posture and expression. Just another day. Time carried on its endless flow.

Then he heard something. The faintest rustle of cloth.

"Lysithea?" he said casually, hand going for his sword. She wasn't supposed to be back for another month, but if it was, best to check. If it wasn't, well, he'd rather the assassin thought he thought she was.

It wasn't Lysithea. It may have been an assassin. It was Her. His old professor. Here, in his room. Once, that had been a youthful fantasy - the attractive older teacher and the precocious student. It had grown into adult nightmares. Her, killing Hilda. Killing Lorenz, or Leonie. He'd not seen any of them fall, wasn't sure if she'd been the one to do it. But then a lack of imagination had never been his weakness.

Her killing him. Him, killing her. Those hadn't happened. They still might. She didn't have the Sword of the Creator. That meant he had a chance, even without Failnaught. If he could get it, he'd have more than a chance. Should he attack now, or run for the Relic, hidden in his bedroom proper? She hadn't drawn steel yet. He could attack now. 

But what sort of Claude von Riegan would he be if he didn't take the chance to talk?

"Heya Teach," he said. His muscles felt like they were going to tear off his skeleton from the tension. "If this is supposed to be a diplomatic mission, there's procedures for that."

She said nothing. Same old Teach. Claude - because he was always going to be Claude, talking to her, even if it was a bad idea - noticed a few more things, less important than her armament. She was thinner, less healthy than she been even after Jeralt had died. Her hair and eyes had changed colours again. Not the bizarre, luminous green he'd come to fear, or the dark blueish grey he could barely remember. Now it was washed out, ashen. And she was tenser than he'd ever seen her.

The part of him that still ached for the friends he'd lost and the dreams he'd had liked seeing her tense. "Is it just a personal visit? I'm flattered, really. I wasn't sure you cared." He was sure she didn't. His smile dimmed to something a bit more secretive, and a little bit regretful. A lot more cruel. "Or has her Imperial Majesty decided that mercy was a mistake? Because I'm sorry, but my neck was a one-time offer-"

"Edelgard's dead, Claude." The spectre finally said. Her eyes were huge and dark and empty.

Of all the things she could've said, he wasn't expecting that. His brain ran through a dozen responses, each more ill-considered and well-deserved than the last. He settled on covering his bases.

"It wasn't me." No matter how fitting it might've been to play tit-for-tat on assassination attempts.

"I know," his old professor said. Trying to pull words from her had been a fun game when he'd been sure she wouldn't kill him.

It was much less fun now. Or maybe he was less fun. "If you're not here to kill me, then what are you here for?"

She looked at him with those empty eyes. "Failnaught."

His hand crept towards his sword again. She noticed. She didn't move. "For what?" he asked, because he had to know.

"To fix things," came the quiet answer.

Claude laughed. Laughed so hard he'd bend over if it wouldn't leave him open. His cheeks hurt. His eyes watered. He laughed so he wouldn't cry.

"Oh, professor," he said, gently, mockingly, mimicking the way some of the Eagles had used her title. She flinched. "Failnaught doesn't fix things. It breaks them." Of course, Edelgard had always been more concerned with the breaking of things. And where the Empreror went, the professor followed. "Besides, you've got the Sword, and I know for a fact you aren't any better with a bow than Captain Jeralt was."

She flinched again. The satisfaction of getting a hit on someone who'd long seemed invulnerable was beginning to be tempered by wariness. Was Edelgard's death enough to rattle her convictions, or was there something he was missing?

"Unless you don't have the Sword of the Creator anymore," he guessed. She didn't flinch this time, but her wide eyes got a bit less wide. Interesting. "Got a bit careless with your weapon, Teach? Still." He shrugged. "Failnaught's staying with me. You'll have to make do with steel. Or Thunderbrand. I'm sure the Empire has a bunch of Relics looking for a good home."

"It did," she acknowledged. Past tense. "But I can't go to the Empire."

This time it was Claude's turn to be silent. The room felt huge around the two of them. Like they were on the edge of a cliff.

"Did Hubert run you out, after the Emperor died?" he ventured. He'd have expected Teach to win that fight, even if Hubert knew the politics better. The man couldn't make allies for the life of him. Claude felt that was part of what made him so reliable for Edelgard.

She looked at him with those empty eyes of hers. "Hubert's dead too, Claude. Everyone's dead."

And Claude was falling.

=0=

After that, Claude had tabled the discussion. It was late, and her last comment had made it clear there was going to be a lot to cover that couldn't be done with him tired after a long day and needing sleep. He'd gotten a guard to lead her to a guest room and made sure his afternoon was clear the next day and finally - Finally! - gone to bed.

Of course he hadn't slept.

So here he was, fourteen hours or so later, under a gazebo in the gardens that was achingly familiar in some ways and utterly alien in others, still tired, Failnaught by his side and Teach across the table. Ready to hear what she had to say.

"How's Lysithea?" she asked, like this was a regular tea session and they were just friends, and this time it was Claude's turn to flinch.

"Better," he said, and it was mostly true. Almyra had access to sorts of medicine that Fodlan didn't, and Claude hadn't spared many expenses. Some worked, and others had promise. "Not as well as I'd like," he elaborated, and that was also true. Almyra also didn't have any real knowledge about Crests. That was all in Fodlan, and Fodlan wasn't talking. Just another regret. He was losing her.

The professor hummed. "And Hilda?"

Claude didn't flinch. He was too tense to flinch. The teacup's handle bit into his finger, and Claude knew he was close to breaking it.

"Sorry," she said. Voice as smooth and flat as the side of a knife. "But I have a point. You have regrets, don't you?"

"I try not to focus on them," he dodged, trying to focus on the refreshing scent of Almyran pine as he took a sip. Of course he had regrets. Sometimes he felt they were all he had.

"And if you could erase them?"

Claude put the teacup down. It really wasn't helping much, anyway. "That's a bit too far, even for me," he said. "Forgetting your mistakes just means making them all over again."

"That's not what I meant," she said. There was something odd in her voice, now. Like she was trying to say something she wasn't used to talking about.

He was intrigued despite himself. "Teach, as proud as I am of my schemes and clever plans, even I can't trick the past into changing."

The professor was staring at her cup like it held all the answers in the universe. She huffed something that, on someone else, might have been a laugh. "Well, if anyone could, it'd be you. You were always cleverer than I was." A pause. "That's part of why I'm here."

The late afternoon sun was low in the vast Almyran sky. Claude smiled sadly. "I think the war proved which of us was cleverer, Teach. I haven't learned enough to match you." She'd taken the Alliance apart, surgically, and him with it.

She shook her head, like she was denying her stunning record. "The score's more in your favour than mine, in my mind. But you only saw the victories. Not the hundreds of failures."

What was she on about? "Ah, well, every victory is built on overcoming failure," he offered lamely.

"I must have died twenty times on Myrddin. Leonie, mostly," she said, with something like sadness on her face. Did she regret killing someone who'd so loved her father? "Ferdinand and Caspar died more often. They were always a bit reckless. Your archers got to Linhardt and Dorothea a couple times. You even killed Hubert once, and that was rare." She paused in her recitation of things that had never happened. "Even if all the Black Eagles survived, sometimes the army took too many losses to continue. I asked Edelgard if she had any crest stones ready, once." Another pause.

Eventually she shrugged. "Derdriu was worse. It took a while to learn what sort of back-line could survive against archers on wyvern-back, and then we had to clear the streets. Edelgard-" The professor stared at her tea. "Edelgard died twice to Hilda, and five times to Lysithea. It was... frustrating. Everything had to be perfect. I couldn't even try and think of mercy. When we won, and you surrendered, I wanted to kill you. Too dangerous."

He'd never heard so many words from the professor in sequence before, and now that he had they were morbid and strange. He wanted to reach for Failnaught. But Claude von Riegan didn't look away from the truth. "I'm still alive," he said instead. The only thing he knew for sure.

"This time." She looked at him, and Claude knew that her eyes were seeing something other than him sitting in the shade, drinking tea. "I regretted that, too. And so I erased it."

"So what you're telling me," Claude said, slowly. Trying to piece together the impossible. "Is that you can, what- see the future? Undo the past?" But then why would she be here-

"The latter, once, yes," she answered, even as Claude realized what she was going to say. "Not anymore."

Claude stood up, chair skidding across the stones, and walked out of the gazebo and into the gardens.

=0=

"That doesn't explain why you're here," he said, once he'd returned from processing... that. "Or what happened to the Empire."

"The power came from the goddess Sothis," the professor said, like she was a true believer and not the hand which had held the torch to the church. "When I was born, Rhea did... something. It might have saved my life, or just been an experiment, I don't know. But she implanted the Crest Stone of Flames near my heart. Crest Stones, the ones in the Holy Tomb and the Heroes' Relics, are like hearts for things like Rhea. The source of their power. And the one of Flames was Sothis'."

Claude had to interrupt. "I'm sorry. 'Things like Rhea?'"

"Ah." She sipped her tea. "Dragons. Saints. Divine Monsters. The Immaculate One. Demonic Beasts, but intelligent and in control. More powerful, can do things other than kill. They can look like humans. Sothis made them as her-" A pause. "Children. Emissaries. Subjects. Weapons."

"You seem confused, Teach," Claude pointed out. So Rhea had been that monster that had broken the first Imperial assault on the monastery? What about Seteth and Flayn?

"Sothis was a ghost, when I met her," the professor replied. "I never knew to ask, and she probably wouldn't have remembered anyway. She was too busy giving me advice about- well. You, mostly. Managing young adults and teenagers." The small smile that had grown on her face recounting that faded. "Seiros - Rhea - of course, only ever said anything when we were fighting." Oh boy, there was some bitterness there. "And Edelgard..." She frowned. "Edelgard may have been given an inaccurate account. So, no, I'm not sure what they were."

That was a gentle way to avoid considering the Emperor may have lied, Claude thought. "So you had the heart of the Goddess in you, and it let you turn back time," he summarized, before his eyes widened. "And that's why you could use the Sword, even though it didn't have a Crest Stone! You had the Crest Stone!"

"Top marks, Mr. Riegan," she said, and for a moment they were back in one of her seminars. "Yes. I had the goddess' Crest Stone, and I could turn back time and use the Sword of the Creator. Right up until Edelgard and I killed Seiros."

"By which you mean Rhea, and also a massive dragon created by the Goddess," he said, still wrapping his head around it.

"Mhm," came the reply. "I don't know why. At first I thought maybe Rhea had some sort of failsafe. Spite. Edelgard liked to say it was a sign of my soul rejecting the rule of gods, that we'd moved past the age of Relics and into an age of humanity. More recently..."

The gazebo was silent. The sun was slipping past the horizon. Somewhere in the distance, wyverns were flying back to their roosts after a day's hunting. Claude wondered, if he squinted, would he see the Goddess' creations in their shadows?

"More recently," his counterpart whispered, staring at her tea. "I've wondered if knowing her daughter had been killed just. Broke her heart."

This time it was her turn to leave, and take a walk in the gardens.

Claude stared at her empty chair until the sun set.

=0=

It was dark when Claude finally began to learn what had happened to the Black Eagles. Or rather, who had happened. He was finding it difficult to keep his temper in check.

"These... allies of Edelgard," he bit out. "Performed Crest implantations? On both her and her siblings?" On Lysithea?

"Yes." That was it. No justification or embellishment. Just yes.

"They drove the villagers of Remire mad and turned students into Demonic Beasts at the abandoned chapel?"

"Yes."

"They kidnapped Flayn? They murdered- your father?"

"Yes."

Claude wanted to scream. He wanted to draw his sword. He wanted to draw blood. He wanted to shake the professor until those wide, empty eyes narrowed and focused and saw exactly what she was saying. He did none of those things, because he was Claude von Riegan, and he would put his anger aside if he had to.

"You're angry," she said. Given what she'd revealed, that was more astute than he'd expected. Viciously he wondered if the cost of being able to undo any mistakes was never examining them.

"A bit, yeah," he said instead. "But that's not important. You've said who they were-" Tomas, in Garreg Mach, Cornelia, of the Kingdom, Volkhard, of the Empire. Those were just the ones she knew. He wondered if there was one in the Alliance. "And some of what they do. But not how to hurt them, or what they want." Or why Edelgard did anything but spit in their faces.

His old teacher's voice cut in, rougher than usual. "Edelgard didn't have a choice. She couldn't fight them as she was."

Claude froze. He'd said that out loud. How tired was he, really? How angry?

"Volkhard had already toppled one Emperor," she continued. "He could do it again."

He shook his head, still trying to cool the fire in his veins. His words still came out scathing. "So she decided to give them what they wanted, and hope she got more out of it than they did? That's a risky play Teach."

She stood her ground. "What else could she do? Alone?"

And like that, Claude's anger burned out, leaving just ashes on his tongue. He worked his jaw. "Who said," he asked. Slowly. "She had to be alone?" 

He could think of the options. Rhea, who Edelgard saw as the enemy, but who would be far more the enemy of this conspiracy than she was of the Empire. Dimitri, who'd looked at her like she'd hung the stars, too noble to refuse a request for help, even if their nations had been defined by war.

Even Claude. Suspicious Claude, the heir from nowhere, who'd never tell you his father's name. The shifty leader of a shifting Alliance. Claude, who'd never spoken of what he'd dreamed until it didn't matter. Claude, who might've made the same mistake, trying to scheme and trick allies into being instead of going in with open arms. Even force - hadn't he wondered, once or twice, what the Sword of the Creator might do to Fodlan's Throat?

Edelgard had made a mistake. People had died for it, people would probably continue to die for it. Claude's dreams had died for it. But Claude von Riegan didn't look away from the truth.

And the truth was, he might've done the same. But he wasn't talking to Edelgard.

He was talking to her professor.

"Why didn't you reach out, Teach?" he asked, quietly. Not angry, or accusatory. Just so very, very sad. "Even if she couldn't, why didn't you do it for her?"

Byleth's expression didn't change in any way Claude could describe. But it was just as sad as his.

=0=

This time, it's Byleth who adjourns the discussion. They're both tired down to their bones. They sleep like the dead. They'll speak again tomorrow.

It's early morning. The sun is bright, and the air fresh. And Claude had become inured to the impossible, because he wasn't even surprised when Byleth says the Black Eagles died to fire from the sky.

"How'd you survive?" Claude asked, because what she described didn't seem very survivable. Not something that carved a bowl in the earth hundreds of feet wide.

"Well," Byleth said. "I was less human than I'd thought, even after losing the Crest Stone, apparently." A small flicker of a frown. Claude supposed she wasn't sure whether to be annoyed by that, given the circumstances. "I woke up in the crater a few weeks later. I suppose I should be grateful it wasn't another five years."

Claude snorted. "Yeah, that'd be a fine habit to get into. What'd you wake up to this time?"

Now that was a real scowl. "Emperor Volkhard. Blaming the attack on followers of Seiros, ordering retribution. A new Tragedy for a new Empire."

"Ah." Claude replied. There really wasn't much to say to that.

"Yes," she bit out, as angry as he'd ever seen her, even if on someone else it'd be a look of moderate annoyance. But she puts it aside after a moment, and continues.

"Hubert had figured out where their base of operations was," she said, pointing to a map of Fodlan that Claude had kept more out of nostalgia and no small amount of self-loathing than any real use before now. Southern Goneril territory, in the mountains. "We'd hoped to use something nearby as an excuse to get close, after what happened to Arianrhod. But either we had a mole, or someone said something, or they just saw us nearby and didn't want to take the chance, or just saw we were all together and decided to seize the opportunity..." She trailed off. "I don't know."

"You figured you could take them?" Claude asked.

Byleth hummed. "They've got artifacts and golems, for defense, but not many people to use them. Get to the mages and they fall apart. Destroy their infrastructure and they wouldn't be able to rebuild. Survivors would be powerful dark mages. Not much more. The biggest threat is the sky-spears, and once we got in, those couldn't target us."

Claude was impressed, and it must have shown on his face. 

She sighed and looked back at the map. "Hubert's strategy."

He decided to ignore that, and focus on the plan. "A fast attack against soft targets hidden behind a heavy front. I like it," Claude acknowledged. "The issue is getting in. I suppose I'd have something of an edge, there, being from Leicester, but even I can't sneak an army past eyes I can't see."

"You'll need me," Byleth says. Then she pauses, and frowns, before conceding. "Or Rhea, maybe."

Claude could see she still wasn't happy with Rhea or her secrets. And because he was Claude von Riegan, he winked. "I'd much prefer you, given the choice."

She gave him a flat look. "Flatterer," she said, in a tone Claude could remember from Sylvain's attempts at joining her class.

"Always," he agreed, before sobering. "You know what this plan of yours means, right? Using Failnaught to try and turn back time?"

Byleth wouldn't look him in the eye. "It might not work. The Riegan Crest Stone might not be able to power a Divine Pulse. It might send me back. It might not send you back far enough."

Claude wasn't going to tell her that he felt it would work, exactly how she'd first described it to him. Sending Claude back far enough to change things. Saying that kind of hope out loud was dangerous if it failed. But she was focusing on if it failed. He wanted to know she was ready for it to succeed.

"Edelgard might not be open to talks, even early. And I'm not going to join the Black Eagles." He paused, watching the emotions under her flat expression. "You know the easiest way to change things would be if I stopped you from joining the Black-"

"I know," she said. Her eyes, so wide and empty, glistened. He didn't move. "I loved her, Claude. I believed she wanted to build a better world. That she could do it, given the chance. I still believe that." A pause. Another secret being dredged up.

"Edelgard never expected to live in a better world. The two Crests were killing her. She didn't tell anyone, but they were." And oh, wasn't Claude familiar with that. "She didn't have time. To wait. She believed in it so much-" 

Another pause. Longer. He could see her throat convulse. "Edelgard would break before bending, or taking another's path," Byleth whispered. "That's what I loved most about her. I can't expect you to convince her. If you can't convince her, I can't expect she'd let you spare her. Because that's who she is." She's crying now, except her face is as placid as ever. "That's who I love. And I know, if the me who is then loves her again, we'd just end up back here, except maybe I'd be dead. Or you'd be dead. And these regrets we have now, she'd regret it even more if she lived to see it."

He moved towards her. Awkwardly. Gingerly. Offering comfort to someone who he'd never expected to need it from anyone, let alone him, who was grieving for someone whose death he was barely learning to regret, he embraced his once-professor-now- what? Claude couldn't really say, what they were now.

The sobs were quiet. Byleth kept talking, staccato between the tears. "The last time. You hugged me. I killed you."

"Hey. I'm still alive." The only thing he knew for sure.

"Edelgard," the person on his shoulder sobbed. She wasn't talking to him. Not anymore. But he wouldn't be the Claude von Riegan he wanted to be, if he didn't listen. "I'm sorry. Our dreams. Didn't amount to much."

Claude stared out, towards the horizon. There was a field of poppies outside the palace grounds. They stretched out to the white-capped mountains, underneath the pale blue day-time moon. They moved in waves, under a wind that hadn't yet reached them, here, in a garden and gazebo so far from where it all began.

Ignatz would have loved this place, for that view.

=0=

It takes nearly a week of non-stop work for Claude to commit to memory everything Byleth can recall, and refresh his own recollection of times long gone. If it worked, he wouldn't get another chance to learn. If it didn't, well, at least they tried. Lysithea should be back within the next few days, Byleth would probably leave, and normalcy would reassert itself. Time would start again.

"You know," she said. "You haven't called me Teach in the past few days."

Claude frowned, eyes focused on the Crest of Riegan carved into the Relic's Stone. "Really?"

"Really," she replied.

"Huh." He wasn't sure what to make of that. "We ready?" he asked instead of addressing it.

"Ready," she confirmed. "Pay attention. We can't know if you can learn how to do this, but you might as well try."

He tightened his grip on Failnaught. One shot. He was good at making shots. But still.

"Oh, and Claude?" He looked up at her. She was smiling, broadly, unreservedly. Her eyes were wet. Had he ever seen that from her before? It was...

"From Edelgard, and me. We really do hope that you can make... a better world." Failnaught lit up with a menacing, incandescent glow. Heroes' Relics didn't fix things, Claude knew. They broke things.

Turns out, they could even break time.

=0=  
IMPERIAL YEAR 1190, ALMYRA  
IMPERIAL YEAR 1189  
YEAR 1188  
1187  
86  
85  
4  
3  
2  
1  
=0=

IMPERIAL YEAR 1180, FODLAN

Claude's right arm was sore. He'd been shooting a lot.

Given the fact he was in a dark, partly wooded area and not a bright, clear training ground, this was cause for some concern. Being disoriented on a battlefield quickly meant being dead on one. So where was he-

Red. Blue. Black.

Three different capes of three different colours. A quick shrug revealed he completed the set with his own golden half-cape.

Remire. Of course. Where else? He turned and saw Jeralt, as unimpressed as ever, routing some bandits a ways away. Dimitri seemed to have finished his work in a copse, bodies scattered around him like abandoned dolls. Byleth had just killed the last of her opponents further away, as clean and calm as ever, and Claude himself seemed safe enough, leaving just Edelgard-

Edelgard, who'd turned her back on an enemy she'd thought she'd finished.

Once upon a time Claude von Riegan would have, to preserve his reputation as a schemer, said that what he proceeded to do was calculated. That he knew that Byleth saving Edelgard's life would be the connection that first bound her to the Black Eagles, that if any moment was going to change the course of history it would be this, when a woman with a goddess in her heart looked at three children and decided, yes, this one.

Once upon a time, Claude von Riegan had watched a man with an axe run at a girl with pale hair and violet eyes, who wore a red cape and the expectations of an empire, who was armed with nothing more than a dagger and fear, and had done nothing. He'd seen her masks and her seriousness, and he'd wondered, and considered the levers that might be in her head. Just another wall to break. He'd seen the mercenary dive in front of the axe, and been surprised, and then he'd seen the mercenary disarm the man cleanly and been surprised.

But that wasn't the Claude von Riegan that Claude von Riegan wanted to be anymore. He'd spent the past week of his life speaking, in excruciating detail, about Edelgard von Hresvelg with the woman who loved her most. It had been clinical, at times, but more often heartwrenchingly personal. Her dreams, her fears, her plans. In the end, they'd caused so much pain, and turned to ash. Claude could relate.

He'd hated her once. He didn't now. Not really. He knew her too well for hate, and though there were parts of her he hated still, he knew what parts of her were loved.

This time, he was the first one in front of the axe.

And time broke.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as, basically, a spite-fic. Not against Edelgard, but against the existence within FE:3H of a faction simultaneously evil and powerful enough to warp the narrative and reception of all the routes. I still think Those Who Slither In The Dark are, despite their extremely cool and memorable elements and amazing soundtracks, largely incoherent in their portrayal and damaging to the integrity of the routes: Azure Moon suffers because people bring up how it never dealt with the Real Villain, Verdant Wind and Silver Snow give you whiplash when they pivot to Shambhala, and Crimson Flower saddles Edelgard with working alongside an immortal Mengele's final solution to the dragon question. I had a much longer post-script going into more detail, but after I finished writing, the more argumentative style of that end note didn't really suit the piece, so I scrapped it.
> 
> The basic premise is simple: given the firepower displayed in the destruction of Arianrhod, and Edelgard having killed Rhea and lost Byleth's Crest Stone, the post-Crimson Flower Empire didn't really have many options for dealing with Shambhala's missile arsenal. The Slitherers win, Edelgard did, in fact, do things wrong.
> 
> Except fiction where one character or position is proven right or wrong forever is awful. So this is my attempt at making something a bit more valuable, and a lot more heart-wrenching. I can only hope you've enjoyed it.


End file.
